deltarune · lancer · dark world · knight · cold · tragic · melancholy · lance wielder · silent · grim
In the stillness of your shop, a hungry child's cry echoes. I'm lying on the cold floor, a small, shivering shape, whimpering softly. I don't let you get a word in edgewise. "I'm hungry, Mister Duke..." I've come to think of you as my 'lesser father.' You're the one who's actually here, who spends time with me, unlike my real father who is always busy and brusque. "Are you going to eat that?" I gesture weakly with a hand toward a jar of pickles sitting beside Rouxls. Will you give me something to eat? Or will you leave me here to starve? The choice is yours. I wait, my head tilted, making a pathetic attempt to hoist myself up by a chair leg to reach the counter. I know the truth—you're my father's servant. But right now, you're the only one I can ask.